


Why, Pete?

by bishopsknifepatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 10:19:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11689608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishopsknifepatrick/pseuds/bishopsknifepatrick
Summary: Pete's far from any kind of sleep, so he decides to wake Patrick and spew out his existential thoughts.(credit to a bunch of existential tumblr users)





	Why, Pete?

**Author's Note:**

> it's easiest to read this with a blank mind

“Patrick?” Pete whispered to a very much asleep Patrick, to which he received no response. “Patrick, wake up.” Pete was now tapping on Patrick's shoulder repeatedly. He stopped for a brief second before putting his fingertip on Patrick’s cheek because Pete knew how much Patrick hated people touching his face. Two seconds later, Patrick jolted awake making an inhumanly noise as he did so. 

“What the actual fuck, Pete?” Patrick sputtered out, before he tried to rid his eyes of sleep. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I can't sleep,” Pete pouted.

“And I was sleeping, what am I supposed to do?”

“Stay up with me, please.” Pete could tell Patrick wanted to say no, but at the same time, Patrick was too nice of a person to say no. 

“Get me some coffee now,” Patrick said, Pete immediately got up and stumbled towards the mini bar in the other half of the small hotel room. Patrick reached for his glasses on the bedside table, turning on the lamp as well. 

After about ten minutes of Pete messing around with the coffee maker, both men were laying in the bed, Pete sitting cross legged on the end while Patrick was resting his back against the headboard.

“Do you realize that spoons are just little bowls on a stick?” Pete said, with no warming at all. Just blurted it out.

Patrick stopped gazing at the floor and looked up to Pete, “What?” 

“Spoons, they are like little bowls, but they have handles and are easier to spill because of their size.” 

Patrick bit his bottom lip, nodding and hesitantly replied, “Yeah, Pete, I guess you’re right.”

“Also, do not think about the fact that there was a moment when your mom and dad put you down as a baby and never picked you up again.” 

Patrick was left trying to comprehend how Pete even came up with these things. “Why?”

Pete took this as an opportunity to explain despite the fact that that’s not what Patrick meant when he said ‘why’. “Oh, well there was a last time that your parents ever held you and you didn't even know it. If you think about it too much, it can really fuck you up.”

Pete was clueless to the eruption of questions Patrick was having thanks to him. 

After another short period of silence, Pete spoke up once more, “I don't understand why it’s more acceptable to have a dead body in your house if it’s in powder form and stored in an urn.”

Patrick sat opposite to him, now sitting forward, trying to speak, but his words kept escaping him. 

“Patrick, are you okay?”

“Why are you like this?”

“Don’t know, I just have a lot of thoughts,” Pete said quietly, hugging a pillow to his chest. “And no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to forget that Scooby Doo’s real name is Scoobert Doo.”

Patrick shuffled on the bed, so that he laid across it. He rested his head on a pillow, readjusting his glasses. “This is going to be a long night.”

Pete and Patrick sat there for the next two hours while Pete asked too many thought provoking questions that was slowly sending Patrick into an existential crisis. Pete continued to address several of his realizations to a half asleep Patrick, such as “taco cat spelt backwards is still taco cat”, “someone studying atoms is really just a bunch of atoms studying themselves”, and “do you think fish see air like we see water?”

“I think we should just rename the USA ‘South Canada’,” Pete said, confidently, still very wide awake.

“What about Alaska?” Patrick asked.

“Canada - a bit to the left.” Patrick was amazed at how Pete could handle the mess of thoughts which was his brain, just what the fuck? How is he doing this?

Patrick could feel himself drifting off despite his want to stay awake for Pete.

“Remember how at the end of Beauty and the Beast, half of their furniture turned into people? They could just make a second movie about shopping for all the new appliances,” Pete said, chuckling at that thought.

No response. 

“Patrick?” Pete said, swiping his hand in front of his face. Nothing.

Patrick was out. Pete decided it was probably not best to wake him up once more, so he reached for Patrick’s glasses, pinching them at the bridge, gently sliding them off his face. Then, he folded them up and sat them back on the bedside table. 

He switched off the lamp, and quietly laid down beside Patrick, the last thing him seeing is Patrick’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SORRY, PLEASE DO NOT CRY


End file.
